The boy is unhappy. Unrelated:The gym may not be the best place to be spending my time.
I'm terrified of the concept of building a family because it's basically management. Only you don't get to go home at the end of the day and bitch about how difficult your staff is to manage, or take weekends off. How terrifying is that?
And I am so so so so in love with him but sometimes I just want to scream. Because I don't like negotiating and I know we both have to give a little, but I don't effing feel like it. He wants to discuss things, and we discuss them but we don't get anywhere because we both want the other one to start making the effort first.
But even these issues are so rare. We do so well together. I adore the way he finds me and snuggles even if he's completely asleep when I get into bed. And I love how he'll fall asleep on my lap every once in awhile if I'm watching a movie he doesn't like, and even the perplexing fact that he starts sweating the second he becomes unconscious doesn't bother me.
I hate that he's unhappy at work. I don't know what would really make him happy and I don't think he does either. He just gets this look in his eyes in the evenings sometimes... he's so exhausted of trying and trying and not really getting anywhere. He told me the other day that he realized he was avoiding bed because the next thing he'd do after going to sleep would be work. When did it get here?
Today after work I went to the gym (still very new for me) and planned on taking the 7:00pm yoga class. I got organized and went in, thinking it was strange that no one grabbed mats right away. By the time I realized I was actually in Turbo Kick Boxing, it was too late to leave inconspicuously, so I decided to give it a try. Oh My God. It was like being in that hip-hop dance class we took for a hot minute in junior high.... the one where I couldn't figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing and kept turning the wrong way and messing up other people until I had to quit to save the whole class from being slowed by my nonexistent progress. Yes, it was like that. But it was actually kind of interesting, because I haven't been in a situation that potentially humiliating in a really long time, and I discovered I really didn't care very much that I looked like a complete goon. I figured everyone must look pretty goofy the first time around, and, hey, I was getting some serious exercise. It's so strange to realize you actually don't care that much what random people think of you. I always respected that about my mother -- her complete disregard for the disapproval of unimportant people -- even when I was embarrassed by it.
But I can't help being haunted by the question of "what's the point?" Whenever I leave the gym (ok, it's only been like 3 times so far, but still) I ask myself whether it made sense to go there. I feel good on the way in, like I have a purpose. And on the way out I feel healthier and maybe as though I've accomplished something. But then... what? What have I accomplished? Or, rather, what is the purpose of this accomplishment? I can answer why I want to work out -- I want to look and feel sexier overall because I know it will make me want to have more sex. And maybe I want to feel super sexy not just when I'm all dressed up in his favorites, but also when I'm dressed in nothing. I want to be irresistable. And also because I want to be flexible and fast, and be able to enjoy outdoor activities more without becoming so winded. I don't want to be held back by my body... I want it to work for me. And don't get me wrong... I'm not big into self-confidence issues. My weight and shape always remains relatively the same. If I get a little bit chunkier from too many pizzas or something, I usually just become more aware of what I eat for a little while or do some crunches until it cycles back. I'm generally very confident about my body. But I want to feel at home in it, and not be the girl who can't even run to catch a train or something. Also I want to climb things.
Ok, so there are a lot of things I want from working out. But even so... am I improving the world in any way by building up my triceps and doing squats? That's what haunts me.
Then again, because I'm me, if I wasn't at the gym I'd be playing poker, having a beer and/or watching a movie. So... it's better than those things, right? Better for me, yes I suppose. But better in the larger picture? I don't really think so. Except maybe releasing more positive energy into the world or something. But I don't think I need to worry about my positive energy output. It is very significantly higher than average.
I have to sleep. I get frustrated also because I always start thinking about these things in the evening and then I can't go as far with them as I really would like to because my eyelids start drooping.
And I am so so so so in love with him but sometimes I just want to scream. Because I don't like negotiating and I know we both have to give a little, but I don't effing feel like it. He wants to discuss things, and we discuss them but we don't get anywhere because we both want the other one to start making the effort first.
But even these issues are so rare. We do so well together. I adore the way he finds me and snuggles even if he's completely asleep when I get into bed. And I love how he'll fall asleep on my lap every once in awhile if I'm watching a movie he doesn't like, and even the perplexing fact that he starts sweating the second he becomes unconscious doesn't bother me.
I hate that he's unhappy at work. I don't know what would really make him happy and I don't think he does either. He just gets this look in his eyes in the evenings sometimes... he's so exhausted of trying and trying and not really getting anywhere. He told me the other day that he realized he was avoiding bed because the next thing he'd do after going to sleep would be work. When did it get here?
Today after work I went to the gym (still very new for me) and planned on taking the 7:00pm yoga class. I got organized and went in, thinking it was strange that no one grabbed mats right away. By the time I realized I was actually in Turbo Kick Boxing, it was too late to leave inconspicuously, so I decided to give it a try. Oh My God. It was like being in that hip-hop dance class we took for a hot minute in junior high.... the one where I couldn't figure out what the hell I was supposed to be doing and kept turning the wrong way and messing up other people until I had to quit to save the whole class from being slowed by my nonexistent progress. Yes, it was like that. But it was actually kind of interesting, because I haven't been in a situation that potentially humiliating in a really long time, and I discovered I really didn't care very much that I looked like a complete goon. I figured everyone must look pretty goofy the first time around, and, hey, I was getting some serious exercise. It's so strange to realize you actually don't care that much what random people think of you. I always respected that about my mother -- her complete disregard for the disapproval of unimportant people -- even when I was embarrassed by it.
But I can't help being haunted by the question of "what's the point?" Whenever I leave the gym (ok, it's only been like 3 times so far, but still) I ask myself whether it made sense to go there. I feel good on the way in, like I have a purpose. And on the way out I feel healthier and maybe as though I've accomplished something. But then... what? What have I accomplished? Or, rather, what is the purpose of this accomplishment? I can answer why I want to work out -- I want to look and feel sexier overall because I know it will make me want to have more sex. And maybe I want to feel super sexy not just when I'm all dressed up in his favorites, but also when I'm dressed in nothing. I want to be irresistable. And also because I want to be flexible and fast, and be able to enjoy outdoor activities more without becoming so winded. I don't want to be held back by my body... I want it to work for me. And don't get me wrong... I'm not big into self-confidence issues. My weight and shape always remains relatively the same. If I get a little bit chunkier from too many pizzas or something, I usually just become more aware of what I eat for a little while or do some crunches until it cycles back. I'm generally very confident about my body. But I want to feel at home in it, and not be the girl who can't even run to catch a train or something. Also I want to climb things.
Ok, so there are a lot of things I want from working out. But even so... am I improving the world in any way by building up my triceps and doing squats? That's what haunts me.
Then again, because I'm me, if I wasn't at the gym I'd be playing poker, having a beer and/or watching a movie. So... it's better than those things, right? Better for me, yes I suppose. But better in the larger picture? I don't really think so. Except maybe releasing more positive energy into the world or something. But I don't think I need to worry about my positive energy output. It is very significantly higher than average.
I have to sleep. I get frustrated also because I always start thinking about these things in the evening and then I can't go as far with them as I really would like to because my eyelids start drooping.